Knowing Things
by Scarabbug
Summary: Tim. Kon. An airlocked safe. Two minutes… that’s basically all you need to know.


**Originally put together for cosmiccastaway because I felt like answering her comment with a fic. It was a fun convo. :) Very short. Mostly plotless. Standard disclaimers apply.**

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Knowing Things.

He'd like to tell Kon to be quiet. He really would

He can't. Because there's a limited air supply in here and he can't go wasting it on things like talking or arguing or punching or breaking things down.

'Hey, Tim?'

Kon is not helping the situation any but… he's trying to. It's the thought that counts, Tim supposes. He just wishes Kon could consider his thoughts more carefully before he let's them out. 'I uh, I _could_ still smash this thing wide open. Save you the trouble of… you know… suffocating?'

'And risk exposing the entire city to the airborne, viral computer-microbe component?' Tim keeps his voice calm and steady as even, as if disturbing the air might set off a detonation. Now that he thinks about it, it well might. 'Allowing it to get into the airwaves and shut down every known computer between here and the President's Nuclear Football? Not a good idea, Kon.'

Tim can practically feel Kon's eyebrow raising. 'Oh-kay, I'm not even gonna _ask_ what that is.'

'We're _not_ opening the door Kon. I can still breathe.' Mostly. It's a little stuffy, but he's not getting light headed yet. Tim wonders if maybe the heat will get to him before the depleted oxygen level does but… no. No time for working out those percentages. He needs to focus on the task at hand.

The cell he's currently locked inside is more like a safe than anything else. If a safe were a stronghold lined with computer screens resembling something out of Oracle's wildest dreams, that is. And Tim's nightmares.

The screen directly before him continues to blip the increasingly irritating bright red message, demanding explanation: INSERT PASSWORD.

Tim never liked those words.

He tries another half a dozen codes based on the family names, close relationships and high school identity numbers of everyone connected to this experiment in the local crime syndicate. None of them match and the clock keeps ticking. Outside of the highly reinforced steel door, Kon keeps tapping his fingers. '…What about now?'

Tim feels the sweat dripping beneath his mask, making the adhesive feel loose and sticky. 'Does it _look_ as if I've cracked the code yet?'

'How the hell should I know?!'

'You shouldn't. Which is why you need to be quiet. Let me _work_.'

Kon falls silent, albeit slightly reluctantly. The steady drum-drumming of his fingertips against metal resumes. It's too damn hot in here, and really all things considered that's not what Tim should be worrying about, but he does anyway. 'Just… five minutes. That's all I need.'

'You've got _two_, man. Literally.' Another tap on the glass. A nervous tap. 'This sucks.'

'I know it does. _I'm_ the one in the room.'

'I repeat… This is all your fault, you know.'

Tim blinks behind the mask. His eyelids still feel damp with sweat. 'And how is it my fault?'

'Because if you hadn't been in such a damn rush to get those things back to storage in the creepy Robin's nest place, then I wouldn't have been rushing in the first place, and then I wouldn't have collided with the jet and then I wouldn't have dropped the sealed containment unit over—'

'I get the picture Kon.' _Please shut up._

Another pause which feels a lot longer than it probably is. He's still not lightheaded, but the heat is as stifling as ever. He's practically sucking in moisture and pretty soon he knows he'll be breathing in nothing _but. _'It figures. I know you'll lock yourself in a room with a microscopic computer virus capable of destroying every online connection in the world, and try to disarm it while you're running out of oxygen, but I _didn't_ know until this week that you won't listen to heavy metal. And think P-Diddy sucks. And listen to _Enya_.'

'Kon…'

'Still can't believe that, Tim. _Enya_.' He's grinning, Tim knows without looking, but… he can also practically _feel_ the tension, because it's building up in Kon's aura. His _Tactile Telekinetic Field_, as he was so fond of reminding them. There are no limits to it, and Tim can feel it vibrating through the entire cell.

_'For god's sakes, Kon, calm _down_ already you're not the one suffocating.'_

He tries another fifteen possibly variations of the code. Possibly reusing several he's already tried. Wrong again. He's running out of variations on local syndicate connections… Maybe if he tries enemy associations? 'If you have problems with my music tastes, Kon, you can it up with me back at base. Still no word from Bart?'

'Zipola. Anyway I thought you said he couldn't vibrate the microbe out of containment?'

'He _can't_, but I'm willing to consider the option of vibrating _me_ out right now. Hopefully it won't come to that. '

'Oh. Great. At least you're not _entirely_ suicidal.'

Tim tries another seven codes, each consisting entirely of numbers. All wrong. 'Not yet.'

Kon's voice is quieter the next time he speaks. 'man you're weird these days. Just so you know…'

He shouldn't really talk at all. Air conservation is very important at this stage. No good passing out in the middle of a reprogram. 'In what way?'

'Good stuff… and bad. Lot's of things. We need to _talk_ more, Tim. About normal things and girls, and…'

'…And anything that's not about whose fault it is that the virus was released in the first place?'

'Yeah, and that. And it's still yours, by the way.'

Tim swallows to clear the clingy sensation in his throat. 'If you say so, Kon.'

'Whatever. Look, man, you've got like, a _minute_, you can't _stay_ in there.'

If Tim had chosen to look over his shoulder, Kon would have rapidly removed his forehead from the glass window where he has it pressed. But he doesn't, continuing to watch Kon's reflection in the computer screen instead. 'It makes me think, that's all….there's a lot I don't really know about you.'

'I know.' Tim says. That's all he'll say.

The air's like a sauna. His face feels like his skin is turning into paste, and there's the lightheadedness kicking in that he'd been so worried about. He can feel Kon sending telekinetic waves through the metal, ready to smash it into pieces if he has to.

Tim types in the last code with his eyes shut.

'So… so the Robin situation notwithstanding, who _are_ you under that mask, anyway?'

The speaker chimes.

There's a sudden vibration from the vents overhead. The air seems to scream with microscopic particles that Tim knows he can't _really_ hear, but what the hell, he can choose to imagine hearing his own triumph, right?

Right. Tim takes a too deep breath in order to sigh, because he knows he can afford to now. He has air again.

'Someone who _isn't_ about to die, if you can commence with the bashing down of the door.'

Kon sighs. 'Fine, to heck with it. Stand back already so I don't kill you on entry. I'm taking a run up.'

And he does.

Tim smiles and waits patiently for the metal to begin buckling. He knows Kon well enough, he supposes.

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End file.
